


Tiramisu and Rude Reporters

by Quena



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chubby Harry Potter, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Protective Draco Malfoy, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27628012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quena/pseuds/Quena
Summary: Harry wants some tiramisu.Draco wants to destroy The Daily Prophet.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 158





	Tiramisu and Rude Reporters

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Drarry fic ever and I'm kinda nervous posting it here hehe. 
> 
> English is not my first language so if ever I made any mistake, pls point it out and I'll happily correct it. Thank you for taking the time to read this!

The sound of the old wooden door being forcibly slammed reverberated through the room as both Harry and Draco entered their shared quarters. Harry slowly walked toward his own bed with slumped shoulders and his head hung down low, while the other boy started pacing in front of him as he aggressively loosened his own green and silver tie with his blazing eyes reflecting barely controlled anger. Both boys refused to talk to each other, and the only sound that can be heard was Harry’s deep breaths, as well as Draco’s huffs of annoyance that did little to calm the anger he was feeling.

After a few minutes of incessant pacing back and forth at the foot of the other boy’s bed, Draco stopped walking, turned, and looked at Harry with a scowl reminiscent of his early schoolboy days.

“I cannot believe she had the bloody audacity to ask that!” the blond said. His voice, normally low that matched his words drawled in his posh accent, was now high-pitched with anger.

Harry, with his shoulders still slumped with defeat as he sat in the middle of his bed with crossed legs, grabbed a pillow and laid it on top of his lap. Once he was sure that his bulging stomach was completely covered, he willed his green eyes to meet with grey ones and attempted a smile.

“It’s fine, Draco. She was a reporter. It’s literally her job to ask uncomfortable questions,” the brunet said.

The low voice of the other boy did little to calm Draco’s nerves. If nothing, it actually made him even angrier.

“Uncomfortable? _Uncomfortable?_ ” the former Slytherin said with a shout and a throw of his arms in a dramatic fashion. “She bloody asked you if the reason why you’re not going to Auror training is because of your bloody weight!”

Harry laid his hands on top of the pillow, started playing with his short and stubby nails, and set his eyes downward once more to avoid Draco’s gaze. He was unsure of what Draco may say if he saw the effect the question had on Harry.

To say that the day actually started out great. Harry was awoken by the smell of jasmine tea slowly wasping through the air. After reaching out to grab his glasses on the dresser beside his bed, he reached and grabbed the red mug in both levitation and preservation charms at the foot of his bed. After slowly taking a sip, he smiled at the way the tea was exactly up to his preferences. Harry should have expected nothing less from a perfectionist like Draco.

When he finished his tea, he grabbed his wand on his other hand, got up, and pointed it to his bed to spell it clean. He took a second to admire how luxurious his bed seemed to look with the red silk sheets his roommate got for him. After eleven years of sleeping in a dark cupboard, he supposed he deserved a little luxury once in a while.

Draco was nowhere to be seen in the shared room they have for eighth year, but Harry had no doubt that he was going to find the blond in the library with Hermione. Harry was glad that the both of them had moved forward from tentative glances when Harry forced them to hang out, to them having dates in the library while they researched on whatever their brilliant minds fancied. He was also selfishly glad that he and Draco always had lunch in Hogsmeade after their study session since his roommate would greet Harry with a smile that only came from having a riveting intellectual debate with a mind that rivaled his once they met in front of the Great Hall.

True to his prediction, he saw Draco and Hermione walking towards the entrance to the Great Hall later that day, with the both of them clearly engrossed with their conversation. Hermione had a challenging look on her face, and from afar, it looked like she had her lips pursed, as if she was just waiting for Draco to stop talking to say her point. When Harry shifted his eyes to focus on Draco, he let a smile grow on his lips. Draco was dramatically gesturing with his hands, his long and elegant fingers waving as if he was fanning the air free of a rotten smell. The way he raised his eyebrows gave him a serious look that matched Hermione’s but the glint in his silver eyes reflected how much he enjoyed the conversation.

When the both of them finally noticed Harry walking towards them, the expression on their faces turned to friendlier ones. Harry and Hermione exchanged pleasantries with each other, and soon said their goodbyes after Draco complained how hungry he was after staying in a library all morning.

“Stop lying, Malfoy. I know you like being stuck in a library all day, what with the huge swot that you are,” Harry said while they made their way to their favorite Italian place. They were walking slowly side-by-side while soaking up the sunlight that managed to peek through the clouds.

Draco turned to him and retorted with a scoff. “Oh please, Scarhead. I’m sure the prospect of research is too much for the infinitesimal thing in your head you call your brain, but I assure you that being interested in things other than Quidditch is nothing but swot-tish.”

“Okay,” Harry shrugged. “Whatever you say, nerd.”

Draco smacked the back of Harry’s head with his left hand, and Harry only laughed in response.

“Knowing American slang will not change my perception of your almost non-existent vocabulary, Potter.”

* * *

Sitting in front of each other in the small Italian café that they visited every Hogsmeade weekend, Harry was so caught up with the familiarity and comfort of his food and the company, as well as the thought of the tiramisu that was waiting for them at the end of their meal that he barely noticed someone coming up to their table.

“Mr. Potter?” a shrill voice of a woman asked.

Harry looked up from his plate of chicken to see a brunette with brown eyes that were solely focused on him. She was wearing a white shirt with lavender pants, which complemented her light grey robes quite nicely. Even Harry and his poor fashion sense can admit that. In her hands was a small journal and a Quick-Quotes Quill that gave away her profession right off the bat.

Harry took a quick glance across from him and looked at Draco’s raised eyebrow and tight lips. He offered an apologetic smile towards his companion and waited until he saw Draco’s lips soften before looking back at the reporter in front of their table.

“Yes? Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

“Oh thank you, Mr. Potter!” she said with a smile. “I promise this will be quick and then you can go back to-” she glanced at Draco for the first time since she arrived and quickly rearranged her frown to something friendlier “your lunch with Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry didn’t need to look at Draco to know that he was rolling his eyes at the blatant disapproval coming off of her as it became evident that the hero of the Wizarding world would voluntarily spend time with a Death Eater, albeit Draco being a former one. Harry just smiled at her again and urged her to continue.

“Mr. Potter, you recently mentioned in an exclusive interview with the Quibbler that you have no plans of going into Auror training after your schooling at Hogwarts, is that correct?” she asked. Her Quick-Quotes Quill was scratching the paper quite noisily that only mildly distracted Harry from the question, but a slight nudge of Draco’s foot quickly grounded him.

“Oh, um, sorry. Yes, actually. I did say that,” Harry said with a small nod of his head.

“May I ask the reason behind this decision then?”

The brunet glanced down at his half-eaten dish and took a deep breath. He actually was unsure of how to answer. He was worried that saying the actual truth that he was just tired and wanted to enjoy his life after actually dying was going to be spun in a way that would make it look like Harry was a lazy sod that did not care enough about the Wizarding world to catch Dark wizards.

The reporter must have took notice of Harry’s solemn expression and his view on his plate for she then asked him, “Is it possible, Mr. Potter, that you are unsure of completing the rigorous Auror training program given that you have considerably gained some weight?”

It only took a second for her words to sink in and another second for the shame and embarrassment to flow through his veins and render him speechless and immobile. The next noise, however, came from the person across from him.

“How dare you ask that, you fucking wench!” Draco said with a hiss in his voice. “You have no right to fucking ask that!”

Draco’s voice was gradually getting higher and higher that it was slowly catching the attention of other patrons in the café. Before it could escalate further, Harry stood up, excused himself with a small voice, and went outside to wait for Draco at the door. He kept his gaze downwards and was inattentive of how much time passed after the reporter asked her question. He only started to walk when a warm hand grabbed his arm and led him towards the castle.

When they reached their bedroom, Harry sat on his bed while Draco paced. The blonde was fuming, but he went to the little kitchen to boil water and prepare Harry’s tea. He knew that Harry needed comforting, and the brunet did say that Draco prepared his tea perfectly every single time.

Walking towards the bed with a cup of hot jasmine tea floating in front of him as it followed the direction of his hawthorn wand, Draco gave Harry his tea and went on a tirade on how he would use all of the galleons in his Gringotts vaults to buy The Daily Prophet and make sure that all reporters learn about the meaning of respect.

Harry inhaled the aroma of his tea while listening to his roommate’s dramatic plan of vengeance against a newspaper company. Truthfully, he was now slightly alright with the whole thing now that they were both in the comforts of their quarters, but it felt nice to listen to Draco’s low voice even though he was sneering constantly and was occasionally shouting profanities.

Realizing that Harry had not spoken ever since they entered the room, Draco looked at the brunet and asked him if he was okay with a slightly tilted head and a soft expression on his face.

“Yes, of course. It did stun me that she would ask that, but I understand why she would ask that,” he said with an understanding tone. “I mean, I did gain a few pounds and I hardly look like a poster boy for the Auror training program with the rolls on my stomach now, don’t I?”

Harry supposed that his constant snacking would eventually result in a bit of weight gain, but truth be told, he did not care enough to stop. For once in his life, Voldemort was not hatching a plan to kill him, and even Dudley can’t reach his plate to steal bacon now that he was safely sheltered in Hogwarts.

Draco quickly shook his head and regarded Harry with a scowl on his face. “Stop that, you git. You look perfectly healthy for your age, and it's certainly a vast improvement from being a poster boy for malnutrition, believe me.”

Harry just gave him a small smile and continued drinking his tea. Draco narrowed his eyes at what he believed was a smile that betrayed his true emotions, and stepped forward to sit on the edge of Harry’s bed. He then put one hand on the silk sheets, and Harry was unexpectedly entranced with the way the dark shade of red contrasted nicely with the paleness of Draco’s skin.

“If you want, we can play a Seeker’s game. I know that always cheers you up,” Draco offered, “and I’d obviously let you win because I’d fear your delicate sensibilities would not handle losing to a far more superior Quidditch player after all of that shite with that bloody woman.”

Harry ought to have been offended at Draco’s words, but he was silently glad that Draco was not treating him with kid gloves that often happened with Hermione and Ron. Harry loved the both of them dearly, but he often needed to be distracted rather than be comforted to the point that the coddling was already suffocating.

“Of course, if you would like it better to destroy a woman’s career in journalism, then I’m open to that as well,” Draco said with a malicious grin on his face and his eyes glinting.

Hearing his words made Harry laugh into his tea, and Draco looked smug in being able to finally bring out a laugh from the former Gryffindor. He then took out a small box tied with a ribbon from the pocket of his robes, enlarged it, and pushed it towards Harry when he gave him a questioning look.

Harry spelled his cup with a levitation charm, picked the box with both of his hands and laid it out on top of the pillow placed on his legs. When he opened it, he was surprised to see a serving of tiramisu from the café they went to earlier that day. He looked up at Draco and saw him transfigure the ribbon into a fork and offered it to Harry.

“You always get the tiramisu as dessert, and I didn't think you’d appreciate it if you deviated from tradition,” Draco said with a tentative smile.

Harry was speechless as he took a hold of the fork and started eating the dessert in front of him. Normally, he would gush about how the tiramisu was his second-favorite dessert, after treacle tart of course, but now his thoughts were completely full of Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Draco and the jasmine tea he brews perfectly every single morning for Harry. Draco and the red silk sheets he gave to Harry after sharing stories about his childhood with the Dursleys. Draco and the smile that lit up his whole face when they met up in front of the Great Hall after spending a whole morning with Hermione in the library. Draco and the threats toward a female reporter that insulted Harry and his weight. Draco and the Seeker’s games that ended with Harry’s heart pounding in more ways than one. Draco and the tiramisu that Harry always ordered in the Italian café they frequented. Draco. Draco. Draco.

“Hmm. I get it now,” Harry spoke up after quietly eating the dessert for a while.

“Get what, Potter?” Draco asked. His head was titled again to the side and one of his eyebrows was raised as he regarded his roommate.

Harry made sure to look directly at the blond before responding. “Why your mother would lie to a bloody madman to get to you.” Draco’s eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly.

“Why your father, unarmed, would rush in the middle of a battle looking for you,” Harry continued. “Why all of the other Slytherins always followed and adored you even when you were being a git.”

By now, Draco’s face was pink, but his eyes were still wide and his mouth ajar. “What? Potter, what does that even mean?”

Harry vanished his tiramisu with a wave of his wand and looked at Draco with a determined expression on his face that would have rivaled Godric Gryffindor’s when facing a battle.

“It is truly wonderful to love and be loved by you, Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Harry said without the slightest quiver on his voice. “And I’m so privileged to even experience one of those things.”

Draco, realizing Harry’s words, quickly stood up from Harry’s bed and sputtered out a response.

“W-Who even said I was in love with you, Potter? You have such atrocious hair, and d-don’t even get me started with those hideous jumpers you wear,” Draco spoke with a nervous voice that seemed very unlike him, which only made Harry’s feelings for the other boy even more fond and affectionate. The brunet stood up as well, walked towards Draco, and took a hold of both of his hands. Harry made quick notice of how sensual it was to see his dark skin contrast with Draco’s pale coloring and briefly ignored the warning in his head that he was getting weirdly obsessed with the other boy’s white skin.

With their faces closer than it ever was before, Harry smiled at Draco and whispered, “That’s not the one I was talking about, Draco.”

Hearing Draco’s given name from Harry’s lips was such a surprise that it sent a shiver through his body, widened his eyes to improbable proportions, and made his cheeks blush with the intensity of his emotions. Harry easily regarded that as one of his favorite expressions on Draco’s face.

Of course, nothing would beat Draco’s splotchy face, with his teeth biting into his already-swollen lips and his grey eyes heavy with lust gazing into Harry’s green ones above him. Harry assumes that that’s wildly inappropriate to say in front of their friends and family when they exchange vows so he’d have to stick to confessing to liking the other one better.

Well, publicly, that is.


End file.
